A ladylike abduction of the mind. You're Welcome.

A Preface.

This is me. I’m a Tejas gal with a New York world. I work in advertising, I write novels when they aren’t looking and I write music when I’m not doing those other two. I play piano about as well as a pirate drives a car but dammit we’re working on it. I like coffee and donuts and cupcakes, I like jeans and brown hair (I wear those things almost everyday) and I like one band to such extremes I won’t even try and scare away new people by mentioning it. I’ll use brainwashing to lure you in by placing random lyrics about the place and one day you’ll ask me why I haven’t played any BLEEP OF BLEEP lately and I’ll be all, how did you-?, and we’ll laugh at how awesome I am.

This is Frankie. He’s the boyfriend. He spends his days sprucing the lives of the more fortunate with paint cans and magic wands disguised as paint brushes (or rollers). He’s got a New York tongue, an Italian appetite and the ability to drink like the Irish. I love him regardless of the shakey nature he’s caused upon my mental stability. Frankie might say it’s the other way around, but for the sake of my sparkling reputation of being easy (the chill kind, not the whore kind.) we’ll make it like he’s the one that causes eyes to twitch sporadically.

This is Rosie, aka Rosie Bunny Snakes. She’s effed the eff up. She’s a Doxie with a dash of Beagle and enjoys pizza and sammich crust alike, but will accept peanut butter should those not be in stock. Most people will say “My dog is like no other”, I won’t say that. My dog has a perfectly normal crippling fear of stick-like objects, this includes but not limited to: mops, brooms, poles, long water bottles, hockey sticks, rulers, bats, rope that appears stiff. My dog howls to Pink Floyd, howls at doors when we leave her behind one, and mumbles to us with an incredulous tone if we aren’t lavishing her with attention. If your dog isn’t like that, then you’re missing out. Missing out on angry neighbors, missing out on make-out times fueled by the soundtrack of Chubbacca and missing out on laughs caused by a dog with severe attachment issues. I’ll keep you informed.

You might also like to know of other players (the Shakespeare kind, I’m kinda literary guys.) in my life: Maki, she did the labor behind this awesome piece of blogatory. Kim, work side kick which means she’s more than a co-worker. Moma, obvious title not obvious kind of mother. Travis, the redneck gunslinger who also midnights as my brother. Caitlin, she’s my sis and she’s fighting for the country with mind powers. Philip, I was his husband in a past life. Conti, ugh I can’t. Bonnie, the wonderful counterpart to that ugh aforementioned. Ewin and Curt, my piece of home pie and in no way is that sexual. Unless your name is Ewin, wink. If I left anyone out- Suck it, you know you’ll be mentioned eventually…duh.

p.s. I’m terrified of typos and I’ve read this 100 times. 10 lashes to the first commenter should I typo epic fail.